


Mess is Mine

by killerqueenxo



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, request fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 23:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenxo/pseuds/killerqueenxo
Summary: You are feeling a bit under the weather and John provides some much needed comfort.





	Mess is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Requested: "Okay thanks so I’m sick and feel like hell so I wanted to know if you could do a John x fem reader where she’s sick and he just like comforts her with a lot of fluff?"
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact; I do not claim to own John Deacon or Queen.
> 
> You can also find this work posted to my Tumblr, @killer-queen-xo. Please enjoy.

The pounding in your head is what woke you from your fitful night of sleep. Prying your bleary eyes open, you notice flecks of sunlight scattered around the room. _John must have kept the curtains closed_. You sniff loudly, the sound piercing the eerie silence and the abruptness causing a sharp pang in your throat. Rolling over on your side, your hand reaches out to caress the spot where John was just hours ago. You knew he wouldn’t be there, having left for the studio early, but you had _hoped_.

You knew you were getting sick early the night before; the unpleasant gross feeling that nobody ever wants settled just underneath the surface and the exhaustion was immediate. You turned it in early, placating John by telling him it was nothing and you were just feeling a tad under the weather, nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. If you weren’t in pain, you might laugh at how stupid that all seemed hours ago. A _good night’s sleep_ did nothing to help you and now you were chastising yourself for not taking some form of medicine before falling asleep.

The fatigue was present in every inch of your body, leaving you feeling exhausted even though you got, what, ten hours of sleep? It didn’t feel like enough. Then there was the stuffiness in your head and nose coupled with a migraine that had settled at the front of your head and directly behind your eyes along with a scratchiness in your throat that had it feeling raw every time you swallowed. The pain was excruciating but you knew you had to stop the onslaught of tears you felt pricking at your eyes knowing it would only make matters worse.

With all the effort you could muster, you pull yourself from bed, grabbing the fleece blanket at the bottom and wrapping it around your shoulders. Sluggishly, you pad down the hallway to the living room before flopping back down on the couch. You weren’t moving, that much was certain. Any energy you had was fleeting and you left it somewhere between the bedroom and where you now find yourself. Curling up in a ball and wrapping the blanket firmly around you, you let sleep take you, not having it in you to fight.

The jingle of keys in the door is what wakes you. You’re not certain how much time has passed until the sunlight that floods the living room reflects off the television screen directly into your eyes. You let out a groan before pulling the blanket up over your head to shield yourself from any further pain. It’s still midday as far as you can tell which means John must be home for a quick break. The door clicks shut softly and you can hear him placing his keys on the table by the door and the distinct crinkling of a paper bag. Peering out from underneath the blanket, you see him standing by the side of the couch, a soft smile on his face as he takes you in.

“Still feeling bad, sweetheart?”

You nod softly and he gives you a reassuring smile before setting the paper bag on the coffee table and taking a seat next to you. Placing the back of his hand to your forehead, his eyebrows furrow in concern and you’re certain it’s because he can feel the heat radiating off of you. You feel as if you have been sitting in a sauna for the better part of a day but if you kick the blanket from your body, you’ll feel cold in only a matter of minutes. A perfect lose/lose situation.

“Have you taken anything for the pain?” He mumbles, tracing his fingers lightly up and down your arm. You shake your head no, allowing your eyes to softly fall shut from the soothing sensation of his touch. He hums softly in response. “Well, you made it from the bedroom to the couch. I’d call that progress.”

You mimic his hum in response, not yet ready to test your voice, but it quickly morphs into a groan when he pulls his hand away. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll be back,” he whispers, chuckling softly.

He leans forward, pulling items from the paper bag. “We need to work on getting you better. Let’s see,” he says, a bottle of medicine in his hand. “This, or at least according to the label, will help with pretty much everything. Fatigue, sore throat, stuffy nose, headache. You name it, it will probably cure it.”

He twists the cap off and pours the recommended dosage before handing it off to you along with a bottle of water he also pulled from his paper bag of goodies. You gulp the medicine, chasing it down with water as you continue to watch.

“Directions say every four to six hours until you’re feeling better so get used to that awful taste.” He sends you a smirk over his shoulder before diving back into the bag. “I also picked up tissues, cough drops, some chocolate, and tea with honey. _For my honey_.”

You roll your eyes, giggling at his joke. “When did you pick all of this up?”

“Went this morning,” he states casually. “I could tell last night you were feeling worse than you let on so I got up early and went to the market before heading to the studio. By the look of things, I made the right call.”

You nod again, taking another sip of water. “Don’t you need to be heading back?”

“To the studio? No. Not today.”

You furrow your brows in confusion and he lets out a short laugh as he pulls your legs into his lap to begin rubbing soothing circles into your calves. “It took everything I had to leave you this morning but I _knew_ you needed things to make you feel better. Told the others I wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, until I knew for sure you were okay.”

“But the album-”

“They can survive one day without me,” he soothes, massaging the muscles in your legs. “Besides, this will give them plenty of time to work out the kinks in their pieces and Brian can now strum away on his guitar to his little heart’s content.”

“He should be so thrilled.”

“Exactly.”

“Not having you there to critique him on being excessive,” you say, voice lilted with exaggeration. “He’s bound to burst with excitement.”

“I mean, if not me, then who?”

A breathy laugh emits from your lips and it’s the first time you’ve smiled all day. You cherish these little moments with John. They are often scarce and hard to squeeze in between all the recording and touring but when they do occur, they remind you as to why you don’t allow yourself to be selfish with him. Because everything he does is for you. _For us_ , he often says, wanting nothing more than for you to be safe and happy with the life he is working so hard in giving to you.

“There’s that smile,” he whispers, offering one in return.

“I’m gross.”

“You’re beautiful.”

You gaze up at him, momentarily becoming lost in the softness of his eyes. “If I wasn’t so sick, I’d kiss you.”

“Another time then,” he offers. “We have plenty of time. But for now, what do you want to do?”

You shift your gaze back down, fiddling with a loose thread at the end of your blanket. “What I _want_ is for you to hold me-"

"I can do that."

"You'll get sick."

"I won't."

"But you _might_."

He shrugs. "Then I guess it will be your turn to take care of me. Now scooch."

You let out an exaggerated sigh, or as much of one as you can without sending yourself into a coughing fit. You pull yourself closer to the edge of the couch so he can slide in behind you. He swipes a few strands of matted hair from your face before looping his arm around your waist and lacing his fingers with yours. Placing a soft kiss to your temple, he whispers, “Now what?”

You hum appreciatively, pondering the thought. “Tell me a story.”

He snorts. “A story? What kind, like a fairy tale?”

“No, no,” you chuckle. “Tell me about your day.”

He leans slightly over you and you can see out of your peripheral that he is slightly skeptical of your ask. “You want me to tell you about my day at the studio?”

“Yeah,” you whisper softly, fingers playing with the ends of his. “Tell me about a new crazy idea Freddie has for the album or a new girl Roger no doubt brought in with him this morning or how long of a guitar solo Brian is trying to squeeze into one song. Tell me anything.”

“Alright. I came up with a new bassline.”

“You did?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, the low sound emitting a vibration from his chest. You push yourself further back into him and he tightens his embrace around you, pulling you closer.

“Tell me everything.”

And he does. His lips are by your ear whispering softly as he tells you the story of how he came up with the idea before he switches to humming the tune for you. The warmth his body emanates and the dulcet tone of his voice lulls you back to sleep but this time, you don’t feel nearly as bad knowing that when you wake, he will still be there.


End file.
